In Darkness
by apprentice wordsmith
Summary: "Then why do these black horses endure such riders? All other animals are terrified when they draw near, even the elf-horse of Glorfindel," Frodo said, and Gandalf replied, "Because these horses are born and bred to the service of Mordor." So, how do you train these horses? And what happens afterward? A story of hope and healing. Now in 3 parts, b/c that format made more sense.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: You guys know I'm weird, right? Only I would try to write from the perspective of a Ringwraith's horse.

This story popped into my head when I realized the searchers found only eight dead horses after the flood. The specific wording is found in FotR, 'The Ring Goes South'. I started wondering what happened to the ninth horse, then thinking about how one would train a horse to tolerate something as evil as a Ringwraith. The thought processes collided, and here we are. I hope you enjoy it.

Keep in mind, horses don't really understand things like clothes. So when the horse is referring to 'black creatures', she's seeing the wraith's black robes, not their actual skin. And a horse's predominate emotions are happy and scared, so don't expect her to understand anything much more complex than that. Also, horses can't see directly in front of their faces or directly behind them.

oOoOo

From the moment she is born, darkness is part of her life. Not only the darkness that falls over one's eyes, though it is nighttime and the stable is unlit, but the shadowed creatures in their black robes, who are always there.

She is afraid of them, at first, as all foals are afraid of the world around them. Her mother teaches her what is safe, and since Mother is unafraid of the black creatures that go on two legs, the filly soon learns not to fear them. Every time they come near, she wants to run, but with the black creatures comes food, water, shelter from the cold, and best of all, certainty. She obeys the black creatures; she stands still when they lay their icy hands upon her, and she is rewarded with food. And to a horse, food is important enough that she will tolerate the black creatures.

In time, she learns to tolerate the black creatures in other ways. When she is half-grown, and no longer flinches at their touch, she is introduced to the saddle and bridle. She does not like the tightness of the girth, or the feel of the bit between her teeth, or the smell of the bent-backed and frightened slave who has put these things on her, but the black creature is near, and by now, she has learned that its presence means safety.

In a short time, she learns to carry the black creature. At first, this terrifies her; her instincts tell her to run from anything that tries to cling to her back. After all, lions and wolves kill horses in this manner, and though the black creature is not heavy, she finds it difficult to balance and walk when it sits in the saddle.

But she learns to walk, and trot, and gallop, to obey the pressure of the reins and the black creature's spurs. When she obeys, she is allowed to rest and eat. If she does not, the black creature grows angry and its anger frightens and traps her. She does not like to be trapped, unable to move freely, so it is best to obey.

As she learns, she meets other horses. They are nine in number, and each has been learning to obey one of the black creatures. They talk in soft murmurs of their lives, and wonder why the sky has grown dark of late. The unhappy slaves who tend them are even sadder and more frightened than usual.

One day, the black creatures saddle each of the nine horses, mount up, and ride. She does not know where they are going, but she obeys.

Onward and onward they go, far beyond anything she has ever known. The sky grows lighter but the black creatures grow darker and more angry. She does not like them to be angry.

They cross a river in the darkness, taken across the lapping water by a boat that rocks under them. She lays her ears back, afraid of this new thing, but her master tells her to stand and she obeys.

They ride for many days after crossing the river, always toward the setting sun. When she and the other horses cannot go over an obstacle, they seek ways around it, and their masters grow impatient, pulling at the reins to steer them back on course and urging them to greater speed. She is weary, as are the others, but their masters tell them to press on, and it is easier to obey.

They pass through groups of houses. People live in these buildings, she thinks, but they hide. Even the dogs bark once then slink away, terrified of something. Perhaps they are afraid of the black creatures? She dimly recalls fearing them, but they give her food and tell her what to do, and that is comforting.

Finally they come to a land inhabited only by tiny people. Even the largest ones could walk underneath her without ducking their heads. The black creatures grow angry at the sight of the little people. She is afraid, but her master commands her, with whip and spur, to keep moving.

They change direction. Now they are going back the way they came. She does not know why, but she knows her master is furious. Its anger grows when they come to a small house in the woods. All of the black creatures dismount and tie their horses to nearby trees, then enter the house. They scream, and the sound hurts her ears. She and her companions stamp nervously and try to see what is happening, as the tree branches whip around them and the wind howls.

When the black creatures return, she is afraid of them. They are so angry. She is so frightened that she cannot run away, and her master must use its spurs to tell her to move, then yanks on the reins to steer her. Her sides ache and she tastes blood.

They move on. She does not know where they are going. Nor do the other horses. They smell of confusion and fright. The black creatures do not notice.

Days pass. They move in the direction of the rising sun now. Perhaps they are going home, and the creatures are angry because they did not find what they sought in that little house?

Then they come upon the grey man. He looks old. Many of the slaves looked the same, but this man stands straight, leaning on a staff of wood. The black creatures are afraid of him. They flee. Her ribs hurt and her mouth tastes of blood again, but the black creatures are no longer afraid, so neither is she.

They continue toward the rising sun, though it is blocked by mountains in the distance. But she senses something odd ahead of her. It feels like one of the black creatures, but only faintly. This feeling grows stronger as the days pass and their pace quickens.

Then one day, she sees a glimpse of white ahead of her, and smells the faint scent of a strange horse. Her master urges her to gallop, and soon she sees that they are chasing a white horse. One of the little people clings to its back. It smells ill, and feels like one of the black creatures. She does not know why they are chasing the little person, but her master tells her to run as fast as she can, and she obeys.

But the white horse is faster than any of them. When it disappears from her sight, she would like to slow, for she is weary and thirsty, but her master spurs her onward until they come to a river. There her master falters. It is confused by the sound of running water, and its orders become less clear.

Is she meant to follow the white horse? For it is crossing the river, leaving her and eight other horses on the other side. She waits. Her master would not like her to move unless it tells her to. All nine of them stamp nervously, then one steps forward. The others follow, and now she feels her master's spurs telling her to do the same.

A light, a strange golden light bursts from the trees behind her. Startled, she looks back and sees a tall being, walking on two legs. The being is glowing like a small sun. She has never seen this before, but she understands the flaming torch in its hand. Fire is bad. She is wary of fire, and her master is telling her, with spur and rein, to enter the river. She is less afraid of water than fire, and the other horses are going ahead of her, so she steps forward.

She stumbles! She regains her balance, but her hoof hurts. She has cast a shoe. This has happened before, but never on such rocky ground. But her master says, 'go forward,' so she does, flinching in pain when she steps on a sharp stone.

She is the last to enter the river. Her injured hoof has barely touched the water when a roar echoes over the river. She stops, afraid, but her master savagely spurs her on. Obedient as ever, she takes another step forward, then stumbles again, falling to her knees.

There is so much pain. She cannot think, nor even feel her master's commands.

And the first wave crashes into her.


	2. Chapter 2

Every part of her body aches. When she coughs, water streams from her nose and her ribs hurt. Her saddle has slipped, and is clinging uncomfortably to her side, the breastplate digging into her shoulder on one side and dangling uselessly on the other. But she is no longer under the water. It pummeled her this way and that, until she knew not where safety lay, and it was all she could do to avoid being utterly swept away.

She staggers up the bank and onto dry land. Her master is gone. All of the other horses are gone. Even the white horse is nowhere to be seen, and the land itself is unfamiliar. She cries out, but there is no answer.

What is she meant to do now? She has never been without her master, or someone telling her what to do. She thinks she should move, but has not the strength.

She waits. Everything around her is grey, though the sun is high in the sky and she thinks the leaves of the trees should be yellow. The birds sing, but they are faraway to her ears.

Something moves in the trees. She looks at it without interest. Her master would tell her if she should be afraid, but her master is not here. So she does not move as the tall, two-legged being comes closer and closer.

It has golden hair, like fresh straw, and the skin on its legs and body is dark green, though the skin on its face is pale. Still it comes closer and still she remains still, watching and waiting.

It has eyes! She had never seen the black creature's eyes, and now realizes that was frightening. But this beautiful being has eyes like the slaves who tended her in the Black Land, though its back is straight and its step firm.

 _Elf_. The word comes to her mind unbidden. That is what this being is, this being of light and gentleness that she craved without knowing it.

The elf speaks to her softly, in words she does not understand. But its touch is gentle. She sniffs its hand, and decides that this elf is male. The male and female slaves smelled different from each other, though the elf has no stink of fear and sorrow overlaying his natural scent.

She likes the way the elf smells. And the sound of his voice. So she stands still as he unbuckles the breastplate and saddle girth. The saddle falls to the ground with a satisfying thud, and a moment later, the bridle joins it.

The black creature would not like her to shake her head and yawn, even though her bridle is gone. She does not know if the elf would like it, but she likes him and wants him to tell her what to do. So she stands still and does not shake her head, or lie down and roll on the grass as she would like to.

The elf says something to her, then turns and walks a few steps away. She waits. He has not told her what she should do.

The elf stops. He is saddened; she can smell his unhappiness as he returns to her side. He kneels by her discarded saddle and bridle, and she is comforted when he takes up the bridle. Now he will put the bridle on her, and tell her what to do. And she will obey, because that is what she does, even if he is not her master.

But the elf takes a knife and cuts the bridle. The bit falls away from the rest, then he cuts one broken rein away from the bit and ties it to the bridle. She has never seen this before, and raises and lowers her head so she can see what he is doing. The elf makes a sound like the chiming of small bells. He is happy.

The elf stands by her left shoulder and brings the bridle up in front of her face. She has been taught to open her mouth as the bridle disappears from her sight, and does so. But there is no bit pushed between her teeth, no pinch of her cheeks as the crownpiece goes over her head.

This is strange, but she waits for the elf to tell her what to do. He tugs on the broken rein and begins walking. She understands this, and follows him. Already, he smells happier.

She is afraid to cross the river. The pain in her knees is less, but vividly does she recall stumbling, pitching her master over her head, and the water crashing over her, higher than her head.

The elf talks to her softly. She remembers that he has not hurt her, and he is holding her bridle, so she must obey him.

The river is cold, but the pain in her legs is less. All the same, she is content to leave it behind and follow the elf through the trees. Down, down, and around they go, until she cannot recall the way back. But the elf knows the way.

She is weary, and the pain in her legs returns. But eventually the air smells different, like hay and other horses. A stable! The trees have hardly lessened, but there is a stable standing among them. It is shaped like the one at home, but this one is white and green and soft grey instead of black and dim. She does not have to follow the elf blindly into its confines; she can see where she is going.

The elf leads her to a stall and removes her bridle. Is this to be her home now? It smells fresh, and the golden straw on the floor is soft. There is a bucket filled with water. and a pile of pale green hay on one corner She is thirsty, but the elf has not told her she may drink, so she waits. The horses around her eat and drink and walk about in their stalls, but she is still. The elf has gone and there is no one to tell her what to do. She wishes her master was here. It would tell her to eat and drink, and she would be happy.

Time passes. The elf returns. He glances at the bucket of water, and begins to smell unhappy. She is worried. Has she done something bad? When the elf enters the stall, she eyes him nervously. She is a good horse, an obedient horse, so she does not move, but she wishes to run away from this unhappy elf.

He has a halter, and puts it over her head. This is familiar; though she has not worn a halter since she left home, so long ago. She follows him out of the stable and to another building, one that smells of smoke and steel.

This building looks more like home. She also remembers the smells of home, and though much of home smelled like this, the scents were strongest near the blacksmith's forge.

Her elf leads her into the building and she sighs with relief. There is another elf standing near the fire, but her elf is not afraid, and they talk to each other for a moment. The strange elf- this one has hair as bright as the fire- takes up a few tools and approaches. She sniffs his hand when it is offered, and likes his scent.

The fire-haired elf bends over, running his hand down her leg. This is familiar, and she lifts her hoof. A few _snips!_ later, a bit of a _zzzz-zzz_ sound, and she can stand on that hoof again without pain.

The elf uses more tools to pull off her other shoes, then trim and rasp the rest of her hooves. She is happy when he is finished, though less happy to leave the comfortably dark and sooty forge. Her stall is unfamiliar, and when her elf leaves her alone, she stands, waiting for someone to tell her what to do. Eventually, weariness overcomes her. She lowers her head and rests.


	3. Chapter 3

The elf- her elf- returns the next day. He brings with him another elf. This one has black hair. She remembers the grey man. They do not look alike, or smell alike, but there is the same feeling about each of them. She was afraid of the grey man, because her master was.

But the golden elf is her master now, and he is not afraid. He has a halter in his hand, and she lowers her head so he may put it on her. The black-haired elf steps in front of her, far enough away that she can see him. He raises one hand, and before it disappears from her sight, she sees that there is a ring of silver with a blue stone on one finger.

Something touches her forehead. A hand. The black-haired elf's hand. She would be afraid, but her new master is standing next to her, and he is not afraid, so perhaps there is nothing to worry about.

There is a sharp pulse against her forehead, like the elf has pushed her, and a bright light covers her eyes. She cannot see anything beyond it, and she tries to throw it off. But her elf has wrapped one arm over her poll and the other around her nose, and she only manages a tiny shake of her head.

Another pulse, and the light fades. But it is not completely gone; a hint of light remains, like she stepped out of the stable at home on a day when the sky had not gone completely dark, as it had done shortly before she left for the last time.

But even the memories of home are fading, and she feels lighter than ever, as if she had been wearing the heaviest of shoes and the pulse of light had removed them. She looks down at her hooves, just in case. They are bare.

Her elf picks up a bucket of water and places it under her nose. It tickles her whiskers, but she cares not. Water! She gulps it down; she was so thirsty, and its coolness washes away more sadness.

A handful of oats is next. She has never tasted anything so sweet and wonderful. Her elf is making that sound like chiming bells, and he smells happy. She nudges his hand, hoping for more oats.

No more oats appear, but her elf leads her to a grassy spot near the stables, shuts the gate behind her, and removes her halter. He backs away, and she begins to follow him, then stops.

Eat grass, or follow her elf? All her life, she has been taught to do as her master tells her, to come and go as she is bidden. But the grass is so green, and the sun is so bright, and there is an itch on her withers that simply _must_ be scratched.

Like a coiled spring suddenly released, she leaps into the air, bucking and kicking out like she has not done since she was a young foal. She throws herself down and rolls over, scratching a thousand dormant itches, then jumps to her feet, shaking herself then bucking some more, just because she can.

But the grass is calling to her, and she soon settles down to the serious business of munching, occasionally raising her head to look about. The stables glow softly in the morning light, and the water of a nearby stream whispers softly. Her elf is still standing by the gate, his golden hair shining in the brilliant sun. Silvery tears run down his face, and his teeth are very white when he smiles.

All of her life, she has been in darkness. Now all is light.

The End.

A/N: I can't resist happy endings, and though Aragorn has the greatest ability to counter the Black Breath in canon, he was too busy trying to corral the hobbits and prevent them from raiding the larders of Rivendell, so Elrond was obliged to heal our heroine. I think he did an excellent job of it, and she shall live peacefully for the rest of her days.


End file.
